


Killer

by in_motu_proprio



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Character Death, Gen, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 04:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/in_motu_proprio/pseuds/in_motu_proprio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at Alfie's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Killer

**Title:** Killer  
 **Author:** in_motu_proprio  
 **Beta:** lilbakht  
 **Pairings:** Stormageddon, Dark Lord of All/The Doctor  
 **Warnings:** Character Death  
 **Summary:** Alfie through the ages. 

Stormageddon, Dark Lord of All stomped through the city he and dad had made, kicking blocks and making growling sounds. Soon he'd forget this young boy. He would grow up and get a job and find a mate and settle down, same as his mum and dad and generations before. The problem with that was that Stormy already knew the stars. He'd seen them in the arms of a tall man with fluffy hair when he was a babe and had looked up ever since. Stormageddon still looked out his window at night and wondered where that blue box was. He had a thirst to break away from the flat and the mate and the mortgage to travel through the stars with that man. The problem about being four, though, is that you forgot things. Soon enough that blue box and the fluffy haired man with the gigantic chin were replaced with finding friends and math facts. 

By the time he was ten years, eight months, and four days, Alfie was a bit shy. He always had his nose in a book and rarely looked up for anything other than a game of footie. He got top marks in science and maths, but was pitiful in English. His mum had wanted him to take beginning French, but he'd had to quit that after two weeks when he was already failing. He regretted having to leave the class, because there was a sweet little redheaded girl named Lara, though he wouldn't dare talk to her. She was too pretty and popular to care about stupid old Alfie, and her French was perfect which just added insult to injury. That year ended with a big party at one of his mate's houses. Lara had been there and the closet under Frankie King's stairs had been where he'd first snogged a girl. Her name was Belinda and she had an enormous mole. Alfie swore off girls and focused on his studies after that, glad to have something to distract him from the three hairs growing out of the mole that had haunted his dreams for weeks after. 

Stormy wore his hair long and his nails black. Ignoring his parents was a passion and pissing them off was his life's work. He was sixteen years, five months, and fourteen days, and he could do whatever the hell he wanted. Right now he wanted to find his dealer and grab a few grams before he went to Kyle's party. Kyle was Stormy's current boyfriend with lots of tattoos and earlobes you could put your pinkie through. He was the most recent in a line of unacceptable boys he'd dated. His parents tried to be super cool, their words, about it. They prided themselves on being progressive and liberal like all middle-aged, middle-class white people did. He just rolled his eyes and informed them that he wasn't gay, that he had a girlfriend as well. Stormy was pansexual, didn't they read anything other than the lineup for tonight's tellie? He had forgotten about the stars for the time being in favor of smoking a joint in the park behind Kyle's house and hopefully getting a hummer. 

At twenty five years, four months, and twelve days, Al had finished school and was on his way to really falling for a lanky bloke called John. He'd met John at a planetarium show two days ago and they'd met twice since at other spots in Glasgow. His love of astronomy and all things stars was reignited after a particularly vivid dream of constellations whirring about his head. He'd moved to Scotland to find clearer skies after that dream, never having been terribly happy too close to home. Mum had been sick lately and it was all too much for him. Al had been working in Scotland for a year now and was utterly miserable, though he could always see the stars. It wasn't Scotland making him miserable. He'd done what he was supposed to do, but life just wasn't what it was supposed to be. Thoughts of ending it crossed his mind now and again, but he'd refrained in deference to his parents, who would be devastated. So he just smiled and faked his way through life until he and John had sat two rows apart under the fake stars. 

The day they sailed away was Storm's thirtieth birthday. The Doctor had come just as he'd pulled the safety razor apart. He always had good timing, the Doctor. That's what his parents would say. Life had become too much. John had left, unable to stand Storm's moods. Life had become a despondent mess of days that just bled from one to the next until his life was a slurry of disappointment. The Doctor changed all that. He'd heard about The Doctor from the time he was a child, stories of how he'd saved their family not once, but twice. He never came back, though. He'd look up with his mum and dad every once in awhile and would listen. They said he'd know the noise of his ship the moment he heard it. His parents had always hoped he would come back, but it wasn't until Alfie was on his own in Glasgow, mum in the hospital with things not looking good, that The Doctor finally came. And the times they had, oh the times. Storm saw horizons bloom on brand new planets for the first time and he watched as new laws were passed in intergalactic courts. He listened to rings sing and saw planets made of ice. And the running. Oh, they ran so much. Storm counted every day with The Doctor as a new and glorious one. 

At thirty seven years, eight months, and one day, Stormageddon, Dark Lord of All formally came to power on a planet millions of miles from Earth. He'd been tapped to become Lord of All when the former Lord of All hadn't made it out of negotiations. That seemed to be a reoccurring theme with The Doctor. People didn't make it out. Sometimes, everybody died. To him, Dark Lord of All sounded a little poncy and strange, but he'd gone along with it because it made the people happy. The title really hadn't meant anything at first, but in the end he decided to stay. It wasn't for the title, the people needed him. He'd become important and vital to them and he couldn't let that go. The Doctor hadn't stayed. He'd left, just left without so much as a nod. Stormageddon watched the Tardis dematerialize and all hope of seeing The Doctor again fade. The anger built over hours, then days, then months until it was an almighty torphor, polluting every bit of him. Stormageddon developed an army, a brilliant army full of guns just because The Doctor hated them. His army was brutal in its defense of the planet, Trensalore being Stormageddon's new home and well worth defending. 

Alfie lay dying in the arms of The Doctor at age forty nine years, one month and one day. The battle raged around them as his people defended his planet and its resources from the army of The Doctor. The Doctor's army was greedy, that was what They said. They had spread lots of rumors. Once They came into the mix, eye patches and autons, things had escalated to the point it was quite out of his control. Alfie knew from personal experience how The Doctor was and that was precisely why he'd decided he could win. He knew how The Doctor worked and if he could just use that to his best advantage, Trensalore would be safe and They could continue their work and leave his people alone. This place was important to him, the people were important to him. The Doctor tried to reason with Alfie, begging him to put down his weapons and walk away. That was how The Doctor was. That was his weakness and he'd exploit it. It turned out that it was not his curly haired companion's weakness. The Doctor's hands shake as he strokes Alfie's hair and promises it won't be long. Alfie's eyes leak, but he barely remembers what crying feels like. He's had so many parts blown off and replaced in the last five years that he's more machine than man. He could reboot and fight again, but he doesn't. He's done. The Doctor has won and his people have lost. Silence would fall. He's Alfie once more, looking up at his killer as his last breath creaks from his lungs. "Doctor.... who?"

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LJ community who_contest's prompt 'killer'.


End file.
